


The Trouble With Being a Prefect

by EverSparrow



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Friendship, Hogwarts, I Ship It, Injury, M/M, Potential Romance, Quidditch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:02:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25963300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EverSparrow/pseuds/EverSparrow
Summary: In which Percy Weasley sneaks out of bed, causes a flying accident, and makes a friend. All in the name of justice, of course.
Relationships: Percy Weasley/Oliver Wood
Comments: 2
Kudos: 63





	The Trouble With Being a Prefect

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for QLFC on Ffn :)   
> I wanted so badly for this to turn romantic but alas it was not to be :( I promise to write a real Perciver soon though!   
> Cross-posted on Ffn

It’s raining outside.   
This, Percy knows, when combined with the fact that Quidditch practice is being held outside, is a recipe for a complete and utter disaster. As a prefect, it’s his duty to uphold order and structure in the halls of Hogwarts. And there is no one who is better at disrupting this order than Oliver Wood.   
It’s that time of day when afternoon begins to fade into evening, and Percy is doing his usual pre-dinner patrol of the first-floor corridor, making sure to confiscate every Fanged Frisbee in his sight. He has just reprimanded a particularly mouthy first-year when the disturber of the peace in question stumbles into the hall, heaving open the front doors and panting as though he’s just finished a marathon.   
“What in Merlin’s name do you think you’re doing?” Percy rushes over to where Oliver Wood stands, his red and gold Quidditch jersey dripping an ungodly amount of water onto the cement floor.   
“Hey, Perce,” Oliver says, his tone nonchalant, and Percy frowns, folding his arms across his chest in the most intimidating way he can. “How’ve you been?”   
“I’ve been better,” Percy says, shaking his head at the boy’s obliviousness. “Much better.”   
“Well, don’t let me keep you. See you at dinner? I’m starved.” Oliver gives Percy a quick nod before pushing past him in the direction of the Great Hall, and Percy whirls around, his frown deepening into something more closely resembling a glare.   
“Are you aware of the mess you’ve just made?” Percy gestures to the pile of rainwater that surrounds his trainers, lifting up one foot to show the extent of the damage. “Quidditch players must towel off before entering the castle. Surely you haven’t forgotten the protocol since the last time I mentioned it?”   
“Look, Perce, can we not do this again? I’m sorry for the water, but I’ve been flying for three hours and if I don’t get something to eat I might pass out, and then you’ll have to carry me all the way up to the hospital wing.” Oliver sighs heavily and runs a hand through his sopping hair, which, to Percy’s annoyance, merely sends more droplets of water flying in all directions.   
“Get back here or I swear I’ll report you to Professor McGonagall!” Percy stomps angrily in the direction of Oliver, who has begun to walk away down the corridor. “And I would never carry you anywhere.”   
“Have a good night, Perce!” Oliver calls back over his shoulder, and before Percy can reprimand him again, he’s disappeared into the crowd of hungry students filtering into the Great Hall.   
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” Percy mutters, and he stomps back down the corridor, looking for another first-year to snap at. He ought to go tell McGonagall about this right now. Yes, that’s the only proper solution. Someone needs to stop Oliver Wood’s rule-breaking once and for all.

“C’mon, Percy, really?”   
Percy is studying in the library when the voice jolts him out of his thoughts. He turns over his shoulder, but immediately turns back to his Potions textbook when he sees who is interrupting him.   
“Can’t you see I’m busy?” Percy turns a page pointedly, his voice a hushed whisper, and Oliver sits down next to him, pulling out a chair harshly and wincing at the scraping sound it makes against the floor.   
“Well, thanks to you, I’m suspended from Quidditch practice for a whole week,” Oliver hisses, his eyes full of a fire that Percy hasn’t seen before.   
“A week is hardly a suspension. If I was McGonagall, I’d have given you much longer than-”   
“You know what, Percy? You’re not McGonagall. You’re not anyone important.” Oliver raises his voice, attracting the sharp gaze of Madam Pince, but he doesn’t relent, and Percy resists the urge to shrink back into his chair. “You’re just a student like the rest of us, and it’s about time you stopped acting like the bloody Minister of Magic.”   
“Excuse me?” Percy rises from his seat so that his lanky frame towers over Wood, his hands beginning to shake. Who does this boy think he is? Percy is a Prefect, for Merlin’s sake. “Just because some of us don’t make it our business to deface Hogwarts property every minute of our lives doesn’t mean that-”  
“Merlin, Percy, this is why you don’t have any friends!” Oliver throws up his hands, and for a moment, Percy freezes, a cold sort of numbness flooding through his body. “I’ve tried for years to be nice to you, and look where it’s got me! Maybe if you stopped being such a bother all the damn time, people would actually like you!” Oliver turns and storms out of the library, shouting a quick apology in Madam Pince’s direction, and all of a sudden, Percy is left alone at the table.   
This is why you don’t have any friends. He sits down slowly, staring straight ahead of himself. He has friends, doesn’t he? People like him. They respect him, at least, and isn’t that the same thing?   
He looks down at his textbook, trying to push Oliver’s words from his mind, but they keep resurfacing, twisting his heart uncomfortably. He doesn’t understand. Why should he care if people like him? His siblings have always thought him an annoyance, a control freak, and it’s never bothered him before. Percy isn’t like everybody else. At least he has ambitions. Ambitions that he works hard for. He doesn’t need to be liked, not as long as he finally does what he’s always wanted, as he finally becomes someone, someone important.  
So why does he feel so lonely? 

Percy lies awake for what feels like an eternity, watching the moonlight slide across the dormitory ceiling and dance in little patterns on the curtains of Oliver Wood’s empty bed. Percy wonders where he is. He shouldn’t be out of bed this late, that’s for certain.   
Why can’t he fall asleep? Percy’s never had trouble sleeping before. He tries to distract himself by reciting dates he’s learned in History of Magic, but the only thing he can think of is Oliver’s outburst, every inflection jarring and cemented into his thoughts.   
Maybe if you stopped being such a bother all the damn time, people would actually like you.   
Percy sits up, shaking his head in an attempt to clear it. Oliver shouldn’t be out this late. He could be in trouble, or worse, he could be causing trouble. It’s a Prefect’s job to protect the school, isn’t it? Yes, it’s up to Percy to put a stop to whatever Wood thinks he’s doing.   
He sneaks out of the dormitory relatively easily, and he has to assure himself several times that he’s not breaking the rules, no, not if he has a good reason for being out of bed. It’s Oliver who’s causing the trouble, not him.   
By the time he’s done inspecting the Gryffindor common room and the portrait hole, the hallways have taken on an ominous air that sends chills running up his spine. He’s never been out in the castle this late, and he hates it.   
“Get it together, Percy,” he mutters to himself, wondering how freaked out one has to be before they start talking to themself.   
He makes his way down the corridor, whispering a quick Lumos! in order to see where he’s going. The portraits cover their eyes and whisper sharp arguments at him as he passes, and he has to display his Prefect badge to each of them, assuring them that this late-night wandering is in the name of justice.   
He finds nothing. There’s no sign of Oliver in any corner, and he’s about to turn back, dejected and bleary-eyed, when suddenly something catches his eye through a window that overlooks the grounds. Quickly, he moves closer to the glass, holding up his wand and trying to make out what lies in the darkness beyond.   
“No bloody way.” Percy shakes his head as his eyes adjust to the darkness, a slow grin spreading across his face. Outside, soaring around the Quidditch pitch without a care in the world, flies Oliver Wood. Percy’s got him now. They’ll be no worming his way out of this one.   
Not wanting to waste a minute, Percy sprints out of the main doorway, wincing slightly at the loud creak the great oak doors emit through the dark hallway. Outside, the sky is clear and inky black, a gentle breeze ruffling the collar of Percy’s pajamas and a few of his bright red curls. Perfect weather for an illegal nighttime flying session. So this is where Oliver Wood spends his nights.   
Percy runs straight to the Quidditch pitch, clearing his throat as he does so in order to prepare for the greatest telling-off of the century. Finally, he stops in the middle of the pitch, craning his neck to spot Oliver circling above the top of the three round goalposts, darting in a sort of zig-zag between them.   
“I’ve got you, Wood! Students are not allowed out of bed past ten o’clock!” Percy puts his hands to the sides of his mouth and bellows so loudly that he’s certain the whole school hears him. He hopes they do. This’ll teach them not to make fun of him.   
From above him, Oliver screeches to a halt, snapping backward as if he’s just run into a brick wall, and Percy can see him wobbling as if he’s about to fall from surprise. For a moment, Percy thinks he’s joking around, but suddenly, he plummets off the side of his broom, dropping like a rag doll towards the pitch below.  
“Bloody hell- Oliver!” Percy runs towards him as the flailing Quidditch player plunges through the air, shouting all the way down. “Wingardium Leviosa!” Percy remembers he’s a wizard just as Oliver’s about to hit the grass, and his spell softens the keeper’s fall, but the sickening crunch that echoes through the grounds proves that it wasn’t enough.  
“Oliver!” Percy rushes to the boy’s side as Oliver tries to prop himself up on his elbows, looking as though he might be sick. “Merlin, Oliver, I’m so sorry, I didn’t-”   
“Shhh,” Oliver hisses, putting one hand to his temple and using the other to push himself up to a sitting position. “No talking. It hurts my head.”   
“Did you break it?” Percy quickly leans over to inspect Oliver’s head, wondering how exactly one can break their head, and Oliver shoos him away with his free hand.   
“No, I think that was my ankle.” Oliver leans forward and gently presses on his ankle before recoiling back in pain, his face contorting into a grimace. “Yep. Definitely my ankle.”   
“I killed you, didn’t I? Oh, Merlin, I’m going to Azkaban. Do they put Prefects in prison?” Percy stares at Oliver’s quickly swelling ankle, his eyes widening at its twisted angle. “I’m never going to be Head Boy and I’ll never get to take my N.E.W.T.s and Merlin, even Fred and George will have done more school than I have, and Mum will-”   
“No talking, Percy!” Oliver massages his temple, drawing in a sharp breath. “It’s not your fault. You just surprised me. I know I’m not supposed to be flying at night, but I’m suspended from practice and it just seemed like the only thing that would clear my head, and- I didn’t mean it, Perce. You know that, don’t you?”   
“W-What?” Percy takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes, trying to focus on Oliver’s words and not the way his ankle seems to be getting redder with every minute. “Never mind that, Oliver, we’ve got to get you to the hospital wing! Here, maybe you can try to stand.” Percy puts an arm under Oliver’s shoulders and tries to help him up to his feet, straining against the boy’s muscular form. “There, that’s better,” Percy says through gritted teeth, his legs threatening to buckle underneath him, and Oliver tries to take a step. They make it about five feet before Oliver cries out and Percy loses his grip on the boy’s arms, sending the two of them down to the grass in an uncomfortable heap.   
“Maybe you could help me onto my broom and I could fly to the hospital wing?” Oliver suggests as he sits up, and Percy shakes his head, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves.   
“No, no, that wouldn’t work, you’d just fall back off again,” Percy says, trying to slow his ragged breathing. “I think you’ve got a concussion, so I doubt you’d be able to fly in a straight line anyway.”   
“You could get help?” Oliver shrugs, gesturing to the castle, and it’s then that Percy remembers that they’re out of bed in the middle of the night and this is against the rules and he’s probably going to be arrested and stripped of his Prefect badge.   
“Then they’d know you were out flying,” Percy says, shaking his head. Is this what he’s come to? Sneaking out of the castle and breaking the rules? He wants to cry and yell and laugh all at the same time. “No, we’ve got to get to the common room. It’s nearly morning, anyway, we can take you to the hospital wing then and say you were out for an early practice.”   
“You shouldn’t have to lie, Percy, this was my fault.” Oliver sighs heavily, looking up at Percy. “Listen. I need you to know that I’m sorry. It wasn’t true, what I said. People do like you, and you’re not a bother, and-.”   
“It wasn’t all a lie.” Percy puts his head in his hands, wondering why the dark and the stars and this annoying rule-breaker’s words make him want to cry. “I shouldn’t have reported you to McGonagall, I just- I want to succeed so badly. I want to be someone someday. And I know that I’m annoying, and I’d probably hate me too, but-”  
“Wait, Percy.” Oliver shakes his head vehemently, and Percy forces himself to meet his gaze. “I don’t hate you. Nobody hates you.”   
“But you said-”   
“I had just come from a terrible Quidditch practice and I was already in a bad mood. The things I said... I didn’t mean them. I promise you, no one hates you,” Oliver says, his voice quiet. “You know, I think you and I are sort of similar.”  
“What do you mean?” Percy frowns, the words so unfamiliar that they leave him utterly confused. The two of them aren’t anything alike.   
“Everything I do, every thought I have- it’s always about Quidditch. I practice every chance I get, I haggle my teammates, it’s all I bloody talk about. I want it so badly that my grades are slipping, and I don’t even care.” Oliver lifts his gaze to the stars, taking in a shuddering breath. “Maybe it’s my concussion, but I’ve never told anyone that before.”   
“I know how you feel,” Percy says, and for the first time, he feels like someone might just understand him. “You want to succeed so bad it’s like nothing and no one else even matters.”   
“You know, I’m starting to think that I don’t really know much about you,” Oliver says, and Percy laughs, the sound echoing through the Quidditch pitch. “Maybe we should change that.”   
“Maybe we should.” Percy meets Oliver’s gaze, the two of them staring at each other as if it’s the first time they’ve ever met. Maybe it’s the combined confusion of Oliver’s concussion and Percy’s sleep deprivation, but Percy feels like this is the first time in his life he’s ever had a real friend. And he really, really likes how it feels. “Merlin, wait, I almost forgot! We’ve got to get you to the common room!”   
There’s a pause for a moment, both boys racking their brains for a solution, and then it hits them both at the very same time, and they slowly turn to each other, Oliver grinning like an idiot and Percy looking like he’s the one with the concussion.  
And so, Percy Weasley, who once promised he’d never carry Oliver Wood anywhere, lifts the keeper into his shaking arms and carries his new friend across the Quidditch pitch, vowing to never go out at night ever again.


End file.
